Ivanhoe, by Sir Walter Scott

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The meditations of the statesman were here interrupted
by the voice of the Prince from an interior
apartment, calling out, ``Noble Waldemar
Fitzurse!'' and, with bonnet doffed, the future
Chancellor (for to such high preferment did the
wily Norman aspire) hastened to receive the orders
of the future sovereign.

CHAPTER XVI

Far in a wild, unknown to public view,
From youth to age a reverend hermit grew;
The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well
Remote from man, with God he pass'd his days,
Prayer all his business---all his pleasure praise.
_Parnell._

The reader cannot have forgotten that the event
of the tournament was decided by the exertions of
an unknown knight, whom, on account of the passive
and indifferent conduct which he had manifested
on the former part of the day, the spectators
had entitled, _Le Noir Faineant_. This knight had
left the field abruptly when the victory was achieved;
and when he was called upon to receive the
reward of his valour, he was nowhere to be found.
In the meantime, while summoned by heralds and
by trumpets, the knight was holding his course
northward, avoiding all frequented paths, and taking
the shortest road through the woodlands. He
paused for the night at a small hostelry lying out
of the ordinary route, where, however, he obtained
from a wandering minstrel news of the event of the
tourney.

On the next morning the knight departed early,
with the intention of making a long journey; the
condition of his horse, which he had carefully spared
during the preceding morning, being such as enabled
him to travel far without the necessity of much
repose. Yet his purpose was baffled by the devious
paths through which he rode, so that when evening
closed upon him, he only found himself on the
frontiers of the West Riding of Yorkshire. By
this time both horse and man required refreshment,
and it became necessary, moreover, to look out for
some place in which they might spend the night,
which was now fast approaching.

The place where the traveller found himself
seemed unpropitious for obtaining either shelter or
refreshment, and he was likely to be reduced to the
usual expedient of knights-errant, who, on such occasions,
turned their horses to graze, and laid themselves
down to meditate on their lady-mistress, with
an oak-tree for a canopy. But the Black Knight
either had no mistress to meditate upon, or, being
as indifferent in love as he seemed to be in war,
was not sufficiently occupied by passionate reflections
upon her beauty and cruelty, to be able to
parry the effects of fatigue and hunger, and suffer
love to act as a substitute for the solid comforts of
a bed and supper. He felt dissatisfied, therefore,
when, looking around, he found himself deeply involved
in woods, through which indeed there were
many open glades, and some paths, but such as
seemed only formed by the numerous herds of cattle
which grazed in the forest, or by the animals of
chase, and the hunters who made prey of them.

The sun, by which the knight had chiefly directed
his course, had now sunk behind the Derbyshire
hills on his left, and every effort which he
might make to pursue his journey was as likely to
lead him out of his road as to advance him on his
route. After having in vain endeavoured to select
the most beaten path, in hopes it might lead to the
cottage of some herdsman, or the silvan lodge of
a forester, and having repeatedly found himself
totally unable to determine on a choice, the knight
resolved to trust to the sagacity of his horse; experience
having, on former occasions, made him
acquainted with the wonderful talent possessed by
these animals for extricating themselves and their
riders on such emergencies.

The good steed, grievously fatigued with so long
a day's journey under a rider cased in mail, had no
sooner found, by the slackened reins, that he was
abandoned to his own guidance, than he seemed to
assume new strength and spirit; and whereas, formerly
he had scarce replied to the spur, otherwise
than by a groan, he now, as if proud of the confidence
reposed in him, pricked up his ears, and assumed,
of his own accord, a more lively motion.
The path which the animal adopted rather turned
off from the course pursued by the knight during
the day; but as the horse seemed confident in his
choice, the rider abandoned himself to his discretion.

He was justified by the event; for the footpath
soon after appeared a little wider and more worn,
and the tinkle of a small bell gave the knight to understand
that he was in the vicinity of some chapel or hermitage.

Accordingly, he soon reached an open plat of
turf, on the opposite side of which, a rock, rising
abruptly from a gently sloping plain, offered its
grey and weatherbeaten front to the traveller. Ivy
mantled its sides in some places, and in others oaks
and holly bushes, whose roots found nourishment in
the cliffs of the crag, waved over the precipices below,
like the plumage of the warrior over his steel
helmet, giving grace to that whose chief expression
was terror. At the bottom of the rock, and leaning,
as it were, against it, was constructed a rude
hut, built chiefly of the trunks of trees felled in the
neighbouring forest, and secured against the weather
by having its crevices stuffed with moss mingled
with clay. The stem of a young fir-tree lopped
of its branches, with a piece of wood tied across
near the top, was planted upright by the door, as
a rude emblem of the holy cross. At a little distance
on the right hand, a fountain of the purest
water trickled out of the rock, and was received in
a hollow stone, which labour had formed into a
rustic basin. Escaping from thence, the stream
murmured down the descent by a channel which
its course had long worn, and so wandered through
the little plain to lose itself in the neighbouring wood.

Beside this fountain were the ruins of a very
small chapel, of which the roof had partly fallen in.
The building, when entire, had never been above
sixteen feet long by twelve feet in breadth, and the
roof, low in proportion, rested upon four concentric
arches which sprung from the four corners of the
building, each supported upon a short and heavy
pillar. The ribs of two of these arches remained,
though the roof had fallen down betwixt them;
over the others it remained entire. The entrance
to this ancient place of devotion was under a very
low round arch, ornamented by several courses of
that zig-zag moulding, resembling shark's teeth,
which appears so often in the more ancient Saxon
architecture. A belfry rose above the porch on
four small pillars, within which hung the green and
weatherbeaten bell, the feeble sounds of which had
been some time before heard by the Black Knight.

The whole peaceful and quiet scene lay glimmering
in twilight before the eyes of the traveller,
giving him good assurance of lodging for the night;
since it was a special duty of those hermits who
dwelt in the woods, to exercise hospitality towards
benighted or bewildered passengers.

Accordingly, the knight took no time to consider
minutely the particulars which we have detailed,
but thanking Saint Julian (the patron of travellers)
who had sent him good harbourage, he leaped
from his horse and assailed the door of the hermitage
with the butt of his lance, in order to arouse attention
and gain admittance.

It was some time before he obtained any answer,
and the reply, when made, was unpropitious.

``Pass on, whosoever thou art,'' was the answer
given by a deep hoarse voice from within the hut,
``and disturb not the servant of God and St Dunstan
in his evening devotions.''

``Worthy father,'' answered the knight,
``here is a poor wanderer bewildered in these woods,
who gives thee the opportunity of exercising
thy charity and hospitality.''

``Good brother,'' replied the inhabitant of the
hermitage, ``it has pleased Our Lady and St Dunstan
to destine me for the object of those virtues,
instead of the exercise thereof. I have no provisions
here which even a dog would share with me,
and a horse of any tenderness of nurture would despise
my couch---pass therefore on thy way, and God speed thee.''

``But how,'' replied the knight, ``is it possible for
me to find my way through such a wood as this,
when darkness is coming on? I pray you, reverend
father as you are a Christian, to undo your door,
and at least point out to me my road.''

``And I pray you, good Christian brother,'' replied
the anchorite, ``to disturb me no more. You
have already interrupted one _pater_, two _aves_, and a
_credo_, which I, miserable sinner that I am, should,
according to my vow, have said before moonrise.''

``The road---the road!'' vociferated the knight,
``give me directions for the road, if I am to expect
no more from thee.''

``The road,'' replied the hermit, ``is easy to hit.
The path from the wood leads to a morass, and
from thence to a ford, which, as the rains have abated,
may now be passable. When thou hast crossed
the ford, thou wilt take care of thy footing up
the left bank, as it is somewhat precipitous; and
the path, which hangs over the river, has lately, as
I learn, (for I seldom leave the duties of my chapel,)
given way in sundry places. Thou wilt then
keep straight forward''

``A broken path---a precipice---a ford, and a
morass!'' said the knight interrupting him,---``Sir
Hermit, if you were the holiest that ever wore
beard or told bead, you shall scarce prevail on me
to hold this road to-night. I tell thee, that thou,
who livest by the charity of the country---ill deserved,
as I doubt it is---hast no right to refuse
shelter to the wayfarer when in distress.
Either open the door quickly, or, by the rood,
I will beat it down and make entry for myself.''

``Friend wayfarer,'' replied the hermit, ``be not
importunate; if thou puttest me to use the carnal
weapon in mine own defence, it will be e'en the
worse for you.''

At this moment a distant noise of barking and
growling, which the traveller had for some time
heard, became extremely loud and furious, and
made the knight suppose that the hermit, alarmed
by his threat of making forcible entry, had called
the dogs who made this clamour to aid him in his
defence, out of some inner recess in which they had
been kennelled. Incensed at this preparation on
the hermit's part for making good his inhospitable
purpose, the knight struck the door so furiously
with his foot, that posts as well as staples shook
with violence.

The anchorite, not caring again to expose his
door to a similar shock, now called out aloud,
``Patience, patience---spare thy strength, good traveller,
and I will presently undo the door, though, it may
be, my doing so will be little to thy pleasure.''

The door accordingly was opened; and the hermit,
a large, strong-built man, in his sackcloth
gown and hood, girt with a rope of rushes, stood
before the knight. He had in one hand a lighted
torch, or link, and in the other a baton of crab-tree,
so thick and heavy, that it might well be termed
a club. Two large shaggy dogs, half greyhound
half mastiff, stood ready to rush upon the traveller
as soon as the door should be opened. But when
the torch glanced upon the lofty crest and golden
spurs of the knight, who stood without, the hermit,
altering probably his original intentions, repressed
the rage of his auxiliaries, and, changing his tone
to a sort of churlish courtesy, invited the knight to
enter his hut, making excuse for his unwillingness
to open his lodge after sunset, by alleging the
multitude of robbers and outlaws who were abroad,
and who gave no honour to Our Lady or St Dunstan,
nor to those holy men who spent life in their service.

``The poverty of your cell, good father,'' said the
knight, looking around him, and seeing nothing
but a bed of leaves, a crucifix rudely carved in oak,
a missal, with a rough-hewn table and two stools,
and one or two clumsy articles of furniture---``the
poverty of your cell should seem a sufficient defence
against any risk of thieves, not to mention
the aid of two trusty dogs, large and strong enough,
I think, to pull down a stag, and of course, to
match with most men.''

``The good keeper of the forest,'' said the hermit,
``hath allowed me the use of these animals,
to protect my solitude until the times shall mend.''

Having said this, he fixed his torch in a twisted
branch of iron which served for a candlestick; and,
placing the oaken trivet before the embers of the
fire, which he refreshed with some dry wood, he
placed a stool upon one side of the table, and beckoned
to the knight to do the same upon the other.

They sat down, and gazed with great gravity at
each other, each thinking in his heart that he had
seldom seen a stronger or more athletic figure than
was placed opposite to him.

``Reverend hermit,'' said the knight, after looking
long and fixedly at his host, ``were it not to
interrupt your devout meditations, I would pray
to know three things of your holiness; first, where
I am to put my horse?---secondly, what I can have
for supper?---thirdly, where I am to take up my
couch for the night?''

``I will reply to you,'' said the hermit, ``with
my finger, it being against my rule to speak by
words where signs can answer the purpose.'' So
saying, he pointed successively to two corners of
the hut. ``Your stable,'' said he, ``is there---your
bed there; and,'' reaching down a platter with two
handfuls of parched pease upon it from the neighbouring
shelf, and placing it upon the table, he added,
``your supper is here.''

The knight shrugged his shoulders, and leaving
the hut, brought in his horse, (which in the interim
he had fastened to a tree,) unsaddled him with
much attention, and spread upon the steed's weary
back his own mantle.

The hermit was apparently somewhat moved to
compassion by the anxiety as well as address which
the stranger displayed in tending his horse; for,
muttering something about provender left for the
keeper's palfrey, he dragged out of a recess a bundle
of forage, which he spread before the knight's
charger, and immediately afterwards shook down a
quantity of dried fern in the corner which he had
assigned for the rider's couch. The knight returned
him thanks for his courtesy; and, this duty done,
both resumed their seats by the table, whereon
stood the trencher of pease placed between them.
The hermit, after a long grace, which had once been
Latin, but of which original language few traces remained,
excepting here and there the long rolling
termination of some word or phrase, set example
to his guest, by modestly putting into a very large
mouth, furnished with teeth which might have
ranked with those of a boar both in sharpness and
whiteness, some three or four dried pease, a miserable
grist as it seemed for so large and able a mill.

The knight, in order to follow so laudable an example,
laid aside his helmet, his corslet, and the
greater part of his armour, and showed to the hermit
a head thick-curled with yellow hair, high features,
blue eyes, remarkably bright and sparkling,
a mouth well formed, having an upper lip clothed
with mustachoes darker than his hair, and bearing
altogether the look of a bold, daring, and enterprising
man, with which his strong form well corresponded.

The hermit, as if wishing to answer to the confidence
of his guest, threw back his cowl, and showed
a round bullet head belonging to a man in the prime
of life. His close-shaven crown, surrounded by a
circle of stiff curled black hair, had something the
appearance of a parish pinfold begirt by its high
hedge. The features expressed nothing of monastic
austerity, or of ascetic privations; on the contrary,
it was a bold bluff countenance, with broad black
eyebrows, a well-turned forehead, and cheeks as
round and vermilion as those of a trumpeter, from
which descended a long and curly black beard. Such.
a visage, joined to the brawny form of the holy man,
spoke rather of sirloins and haunches, than of pease
and pulse. This incongruity did not escape the guest.
After he had with great difficulty accomplished
the mastication of a mouthful of the dried
pease, he found it absolutely necessary to request
his pious entertainer to furnish him with some liquor;
who replied to his request by placing before
him a large can of the purest water from the fountain.

``It is from the well of St Dunstan,'' said he,
``in which, betwixt sun and sun, he baptized five
hundred heathen Danes and Britons---blessed be
his name!'' And applying his black beard to the
pitcher, he took a draught much more moderate in
quantity than his encomium seemed to warrant.

``It seems to me, reverend father,'' said the
knight, ``that the small morsels which you eat, together
with this holy, but somewhat thin beverage,
have thriven with you marvellously. You appear
a man more fit to win the ram at a wrestling match,
or the ring at a bout at quarter-staff, or the bucklers
at a sword-play, than to linger out your time
in this desolate wilderness, saying masses, and living
upon parched pease and cold water.''

``Sir Knight,'' answered the hermit, ``your
thoughts, like those of the ignorant laity, are according
to the flesh. It has pleased Our Lady and
my patron saint to bless the pittance to which I restrain
myself, even as the pulse and water was blessed
to the children Shadrach, Meshech, and Abednego,
who drank the same rather than defile themselves
with the wine and meats which were appointed
them by the King of the Saracens.''

``Holy father,'' said the knight, ``upon whose
countenance it hath pleased Heaven to work such
a miracle, permit a sinful layman to crave thy
name?''

``Thou mayst call me,'' answered the hermit,
``the Clerk of Copmanhurst, for so I am termed in
these parts---They add, it is true, the epithet holy,
but I stand not upon that, as being unworthy of
such addition.---And now, valiant knight, may I
pray ye for the name of my honourable guest?''

``Truly,'' said the knight, ``Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst,
men call me in these parts the Black
Knight,---many, sir, add to it the epithet of Sluggard,
whereby I am no way ambitious to be distinguished.''

The hermit could scarcely forbear from smiling
at his guest's reply.

``I see,'' said he, ``Sir Sluggish Knight, that
thou art a man of prudence and of counsel; and
moreover, I see that my poor monastic fare likes
thee not, accustomed, perhaps, as thou hast been,
to the license of courts and of camps, and the luxuries
of cities; and now I bethink me, Sir Sluggard,
that when the charitable keeper of this forest-walk
left those dogs for my protection, and also those
bundles of forage, he left me also some food, which,
being unfit for my use, the very recollection of it
had escaped me amid my more weighty meditations.''

``I dare be sworn he did so,'' said the knight; ``I
was convinced that there was better food in the cell,
Holy Clerk, since you first doffed your cowl.---Your
keeper is ever a jovial fellow; and none who beheld
thy grinders contending with these pease, and
thy throat flooded with this ungenial element, could
see thee doomed to such horse-provender and horse-beverage,''
(pointing to the provisions upon the
table,) `` and refrain from mending thy cheer. Let
us see the keeper's bounty, therefore, without delay.''

The hermit cast a wistful look upon the knight,
in which there was a sort of comic expression of
hesitation, as if uncertain how far be should act prudently
in trusting his guest. There was, however,
as much of bold frankness in the knight's countenance
as was possible to be expressed by features.
His smile, too, had something in it irresistibly comic,
and gave an assurance of faith and loyalty, with
which his host could not refrain from sympathizing.

After exchanging a mute glance or two, the hermit
went to the further side of the hut, and opened
a hutch, which was concealed with great care
and some ingenuity. Out of the recesses of a dark
closet, into which this aperture gave admittance, he
brought a large pasty, baked in a pewter platter of
unusual dimensions. This mighty dish he placed
before his guest, who, using his poniard to cut it
open, lost no time in making himself acquainted
with its contents.

``How long is it since the good keeper has been
here?'' said the knight to his host, after having
swallowed several hasty morsels of this reinforcement
to the hermit's good cheer.

``About two months,'' answered the father hastily.

``By the true Lord,'' answered the knight,
``every thing in your hermitage is miraculous,
Holy Clerk! for I would have been sworn that the
fat buck which furnished this venison had been running
on foot within the week.''

The hermit was somewhat discountenanced by
this observation; and, moreover, he made but a
poor figure while gazing on the diminution of the
pasty, on which his guest was making desperate inroads;
a warfare in which his previous profession
of abstinence left him no pretext for joining.

``I have been in Palestine, Sir Clerk,'' said the
knight, stopping short of a sudden, ``and I bethink
me it is a custom there that every host who entertains
a guest shall assure him of the wholesomeness
of his food, by partaking of it along with him. Far
be it from me to suspect so holy a man of aught
inhospitable; nevertheless I will be highly bound
to you would you comply with this Eastern custom.''

``To ease your unnecessary scruples, Sir Knight,
I will for once depart from my rule,'' replied the
hermit. And as there were no forks in those days,
his clutches were instantly in the bowels of the
pasty.

The ice of ceremony being once broken, it seemed
matter of rivalry between the guest and the entertainer
which should display the best appetite;
and although the former had probably fasted longest,
yet the hermit fairly surpassed him.

``Holy Clerk,'' said the knight, when his hunger
was appeased, ``I would gage my good horse yonder
against a zecchin, that that same honest keeper
to whom we are obliged for the venison has left
thee a stoup of wine, or a reinlet of canary, or some
such trifle, by way of ally to this noble pasty. This
would be a circumstance, doubtless, totally unworthy
to dwell in the memory of so rigid an anchorite;
yet, I think, were you to search yonder crypt once
more, you would find that I am right in my conjecture.''

The hermit only replied by a grin; and returning
to the hutch, he produced a leathern bottle,
which might contain about four quarts. He also
brought forth two large drinking cups, made out of
the horn of the urus, and hooped with silver. Having
made this goodly provision for washing down
the supper, he seemed to think no farther ceremonious
scruple necessary on his part; but filling
both cups, and saying, in the Saxon fashion, ``_Waes
hael_, Sir Sluggish Knight!'' he emptied his own at
a draught.

``_Drink hael_, Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst!''
answered the warrior, and did his host reason in a
similar brimmer.

``Holy Clerk,'' said the stranger, after the first
cup was thus swallowed, ``I cannot but marvel that
a man possessed of such thews and sinews as thine,
and who therewithal shows the talent of so goodly
a trencher-man, should think of abiding by himself
in this wilderness. In my judgment, you are fitter
to keep a castle or a fort, eating of the fat and drinking
of the strong, than to live here upon pulse and
water, or even upon the charity of the keeper. At
least, were I as thou, I should find myself both disport
and plenty out of the king's deer. There is
many a goodly herd in these forests, and a buck
will never be missed that goes to the use of Saint
Dunstan's chaplain.''

``Sir Sluggish Knight,'' replied the Clerk, ``these
are dangerous words, and I pray you to forbear
them. I am true hermit to the king and law, and
were I to spoil my liege's game, I should be sure
of the prison, and, an my gown saved me not, were
in some peril of hanging.''

``Nevertheless, were I as thou,'' said the knight,
``I would take my walk by moonlight, when foresters
and keepers were warm in bed, and ever and
anon,---as I pattered my prayers,---I would let fly
a shaft among the herds of dun deer that feed in the
glades---Resolve me, Holy Clerk, hast thou never
practised such a pastime?''

``Friend Sluggard,'' answered the hermit, ``thou
hast seen all that can concern thee of my housekeeping,
and something more than he deserves who
takes up his quarters by violence. Credit me, it is
better to enjoy the good which God sends thee,
than to be impertinently curious how it comes.
Fill thy cup, and welcome; and do not, I pray thee,
by further impertinent enquiries, put me to show
that thou couldst hardly have made good thy lodging
had I been earnest to oppose thee.''

``By my faith,'' said the knight, ``thou makest
me more curious than ever! Thou art the most
mysterious hermit I ever met; and I will know
more of thee ere we part. As for thy threats,
know, holy man, thou speakest to one whose trade
it is to find out danger wherever it is to be met
with.''